


In Captivity

by Teddy1008



Series: Broken Plaything [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abduction, Captivity, Dark, Dark Tony Stark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Iron Man does not exist, Isolation, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Sexual, Peter's age can be whatever you choose it to be, Peter's age is unknown, Sexual stuff will come later in the series, Spiderman does not exist, Stockholm Syndrome, Sub Peter, Sub Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 19:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19707649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddy1008/pseuds/Teddy1008
Summary: Honestly speaking, Peter wasn’t expecting anything to change or get better. He wasn’t losing hope or anything, he told himself firmly, he was just … getting used to it all. After all, nothing ever changed here.Which was why he was caught off guard when the door to his room opened without warning. Peter jumped, startled. And in strolled a man with a goatee, donning a very nice, clearly expensive suit, along with sunglasses.Or, the one where Tony kidnaps Peter to become his plaything, and Peter meets Tony for the first time.





	In Captivity

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have no idea where this came from. I saw Far From Home and I guess I just really craved something like this. It's my first time writing something like this, so I hope I've done it justice. Just as a heads up, Peter isn't a specific age, so you can feel free to decide how old he is - which means he isn't strictly underage (unless you want him to be). Also remember, if this isn't your cup of tea, the back button is always available. Don't waste both of our times. :)
> 
> Enjoy, and let me know what you thought!

Peter hadn’t been expecting much when he woke up. It was just another day—another day of doing menial things, eating identical meals once again, and being held captive in the same, boring room. That was how it had been for the past few weeks now; he knew that from the scratch marks he’d been making every day on the wall. 

He stood up, hearing the mattress on his cot squeak at his movements. Peter glanced at the cup on the small desk in the room. It was empty. He sighed ruefully. He would have to wait until later on in the day for more water; he should learn to ration out the portions better, he thought as he licked his dry lips.

For now, he just headed over to the small shelf, where a plentiful amount of books were lined up. He ran his fingers over the spines of the books, before choosing one at random and pulling it out. He stepped back to his bed—stepped, not walked, because the room wasn’t even big enough to walk around in—and settled back in bed. He supposed he should be grateful enough that he had these books to keep himself entertained; things could be much, much worse.

Honestly speaking, Peter wasn’t expecting anything to change or get better. He wasn’t losing hope or anything, he told himself firmly, he was just … getting used to it all. After all, nothing ever changed here.

Which was why he was caught off guard when the door to his room opened without warning. Peter jumped, startled. And in strolled a man with a goatee, donning a very nice, clearly expensive suit, along with sunglasses. 

Peter stared at him from his bed, not even realizing that he pulled his thin sheets closer to his body, as if subtly trying to protect himself from the unknown. It wasn’t time for breakfast yet. Breakfast usually arrived a bit after he initially woke up, perhaps an hour, and even though he didn’t have a clock or a watch, he was positive that it hadn’t even been close to an hour yet. He started when the man spoke. 

“Mr. Parker?” The man took his sunglasses off and squinted at Peter.

“Uh, yes?” Peter cleared his throat hastily when his voice came out raspy and soft from the lack of speaking. 

“I came to see you. Figured it was about time.” The man crossed his arms, giving Peter an analyzing look as he tapped his chin with his glasses.

Peter frowned. “You look familiar,” he said slowly. “Have we … met?” 

The man chuckled. “No, no, we haven’t. But I’m sure you know me. Maybe this will ring a bell: Stark?” He raised an eyebrow.

Peter almost face-palmed, because of course it was Tony Stark; who else would it be? Maybe he actually _was_ going crazy from the lack of things to do. Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Easily one of the best minds in the world. If Peter were under different circumstances, he was pretty sure he would’ve asked Mr. Stark for a signature and a photo with him. Which, oh shit. With a sudden flash of panic, he realized that he was being held captive by the one and only Tony Stark. What the fuck. This was _not_ good. At all.

Mr. Stark had been watching the emotions flit across Peter’s face. His expression was unreadable as he appraised Peter. “I have a job for you,” he finally said, his tone not giving away anything.

“A … job?” Peter looked at him suspiciously, tense. He still wasn’t sure what Mr. Stark wanted from him. 

“Yes. Are you interested?”

Peter almost laughed at how _ridiculous_ that question was. “Do I even get a choice?”

Mr. Stark’s lips twitched, as if he was holding himself back from saying something. Then, he asked in an overly casual tone, “How are you doing, Peter?”

Peter stared at him, half disbelievingly, half bemusedly, because, well—Mr. Stark had had him kidnapped, proceeded to keep him here against his will for weeks on end, and now he was asking how Peter was doing. Peter seriously had no idea what his life had become. 

Mr. Stark sighed when Peter didn’t respond. “I assume that your current living conditions are acceptable? Is there anything that you aren’t particularly fond of?” The man’s eyes flicked over to the wall, where Peter had made his scratches. “Perhaps you’d like a calendar. I can make that happen, once I know you can be trusted.”

Peter’s jaw dropped at that. Anger suddenly flared in his gut, replacing the nervousness, and he spluttered, “You … you … you’re seriously _asking how I am?_ And if I like it here? After _kidnapping_ me and locking me in a cell for _weeks?”_

Mr. Stark didn’t respond, just raising a brow, as if he didn’t understand what Peter was trying to get at.

“Y-You locked me in here and I didn’t have anyone _at all!_ For weeks! _Weeks!”_ Peter’s chest was heaving now. “I was going _crazy,_ do you fucking get that? What the fuck is wrong with you, you sick asshole? You fucking _—oof!”_

The breath was punched out of Peter when he found himself being shoved so hard that he landed flat on his back. The mattress of his bed creaked in protest, and Peter’s mouth went dry in fear when he looked up to see Mr. Stark’s expression. 

Mr. Stark looked grim, his expression scary and dark for the first time since he’d entered the room. When he spoke, his voice was so soft and low that Peter had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You know,” he said, looming over Peter, “I didn’t _have_ to give you this room, Peter. I could’ve done so many other things, do you understand that?” He worked his jaw furiously. 

Peter tried to open his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I could’ve chained you up in the basement, left you there without food or water as fresh or clean as what you get right now, for days. _Days._ I could have made sure you didn’t have a single fucking thing with you. No clothes, no books, no bed.” Mr. Stark leaned in closer, so close that their noses were almost touching. Peter was holding his breath, trembling. “Do you _get_ that, Peter? Do you get how much of an ungrateful and disrespectful brat you’re being? You think things are gonna get better for you if you act this way?” When Peter didn’t respond, he fisted his hand in Peter’s hair and yanked, making him cry out. “Answer me!”

“N-No!” Peter stammered out, visibly shaking now. “I—”

“Then next time,” Mr. Stark said, voice still deep and low, “you should show some gratefulness. Because you don’t _have_ to have those things. They aren’t things that you deserve to have, Peter. They’re _privileges,_ and if I absolutely have to drill that into your head until you get that, then I will.” 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered. He didn’t relax, not even when Mr. Stark released his hair and stepped back. He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at Mr. Stark; it just reminded him of how helpless and weak and pathetic he was.

He heard Mr. Stark sigh. “Get up.”

Peter scrambled to his feet. His mouth still felt as dry as a desert, and he hadn’t stopped trembling. His heart thumped rapidly in his ribcage, as if trying to run away. 

“Look at me.”

Peter quickly obeyed, too afraid to even think about disobeying. 

Mr. Stark seemed to approve, because his lips twitched up into what Peter thought could possibly be the closest thing to a smile for the man. 

He reached out his hand, and Peter’s breathing quickened. He tensed when Mr. Stark’s hand tipped his chin up, gripping it lightly. He turned Peter’s head sideways, twice, as if inspecting him. Finally, Mr. Stark released his grip and said, “You need a shower. And food. Then, we’ll get started on your job.”

And what could Peter say to that?

Nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought with a comment! And ideas for this series are always available, they'll help me update faster! So tell me what you want to see! ;)
> 
> Also, if anyone would like to beta for this series, let me know! :)


End file.
